Consolation
by Ancalime8301
Summary: When Sam's mum dies, Frodo tries to use his previous loss to help Sam and his family. PreFotR.


A/N: This was originally posted in my LJ on August 4th for the second anniversary of my dad's death, written as an inadequate expression of my thanks for the support and encouragement my friends gave during his illness and death.

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Consolation

Frodo looked up from his book to see the large wheelbarrow trundle awkwardly past his nook, pushed with some effort by young Samwise. Dropping the book to the grass, he hurried over to help the lad. Though the gardener's lad was already fifteen, he was still rather small to be a fair match for the largest barrow that Bilbo owned, especially when loaded to the brim with seedlings and gardening tools.

"Here, let me help you," he said, taking one handle from Sam. "Where's your Gaffer?"

The dirt-streaked face didn't look at him as they continued across the garden to the freshly turned plot near the gate. "He's at 'ome, sir."

"So you're doing the chores all by yourself today?" the tweenager pressed. Not to insult Sam's burgeoning skills, he was rather surprised that the Gaffer would already allow his youngest son free rein in amongst his meticulous work.

"Yessir. Just doin' my part, sir. And we can set it down here, begging your pardon."

There was a note in the younger boy's voice that gave Frodo pause. As he straightened, he asked, "Is something wrong, Sam?"

Sam still wouldn't look at him, now reaching into the wheelbarrow to lay out his tools. "Naught but a ninnyhammer you are, Sam Gamgee," he muttered to himself. "You've forgotten the watering bucket."

He started back across the garden towards the pump when Frodo held him back, an unyielding hand on the lad's shoulder. "Sam, tell me what's the matter."

Sam hung his head. "Nothing's the matter, sir," he murmured. "Naught that need concern you, nohow."

"Sam," he said unhappily. He tried a different tack. "Why is your Gaffer home?"

"To talk ta the healer," Sam admitted.

"How's your Mum?" he asked. It was common knowledge that Bell Gamgee had been poorly since the cold season, but the gossips didn't know the nature of the problem or its severity (and not for lack of trying, to be sure!). Apparently it was worse than he'd privately supposed, for the healer to have been called.

Sam sniffed and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve before bursting out, "I'm not supposed ta know."

Beginning to understand Sam's quandary, Frodo supplied, "But you do."

He nodded miserably. "I went back 'ome ta ask how my Gaffer wants this here bed laid out..."

"-and you overheard."

"Aye. An' I got meself out of there quick as quick."

"Were your sisters there?"

Sam still wasn't looking at him and instead studied the tops of his feet very closely. "Nay. The healer sent 'em off to the herb master in Bywater for a few things afore I left this morning."

"Oh, Sam..." Frodo sighed, trying to decide the best way to help Sam in his predicament. "Here, sit down a moment," he invited, plopping down on the warm grass and watching as Sam reluctantly followed suit. "Sam... you don't have to say if you don't want to, but... what did the healer say?"

Sam fidgeted with his shirt cuff for a moment before sniffling in earnest and trying to hide the tears coursing down his face. At first, Frodo was torn over what he should do, but threw his reservations out the window, then threw his arms around the crying lad. Sam stiffened at first, but when Frodo made no move to let go, he relaxed and buried his face in Frodo's shoulder.

They sat in this manner for some minutes, during which Frodo figured out two things: poor Sam was shaking, and the news must be very bad if Sam's reaction was any judge. It upset him that Sam was this upset, and he found himself wondering how long it would be until Sam and his sisters didn't have a Mum anymore.

"He said he can't do anything more," Sam said at last, his voice muffled by Frodo's shirt. "He... he said there's nothing anyone can do..." he trailed off as his trembling grew more pronounced, and Frodo hugged him closer.

"Shh, you don't need to say any more." He didn't know what else to tell him, for any assurance that everything would be all right would sound just as hollow to Sam as it did to him right after his parents died. Instead, he simply dug out his handkerchief and gave it to Sam, all the while rubbing the lad's back as others had done to him when he was upset.

When he seemed to have composed himself, Frodo let him sit back up again, exchanging a brief glance with the rather embarrassed Samwise. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, shoving the rumpled and damp handkerchief into his pocket with a promise to return it clean.

"Sam, you can talk to me anytime, about anything. I promise." Frodo gazed at Sam seriously before he nodded reluctantly in acknowledgement.

An awkward moment settled between them before Sam broke the silence. "I oughta plant them seedlings afore the sun fries 'em."

"Oh. All right," Frodo conceded as he stood, brushing bits of grass from the seat of his trousers. He retreated back to his nook to fetch his book, then turned his steps toward Bag End. He needed to talk to Bilbo, and immediately.

After several minutes scouring the smial, Frodo found his wayward guardian in the front parlor, taking some tea with none other than the Hobbiton healer. "Good day, Master Proudfoot," Frodo greeted the healer as he entered the room and took up his usual perch on the sofa after snitching a few tea sandwiches and a mug of tea.

The healer returned the greeting, and the conversation revolved around casual gossip and talk of growing lads for some minutes before Odo Proudfoot took his leave. Once Bilbo returned from escorting his guest to the door, Frodo asked, "Why was he here?

Bilbo glanced at him, as if gauging how much he could divulge, and replied, "I'd asked him to drop by."

Frodo decided to cut right to the heart of the matter. "Did he talk about the Gamgees?"

Bilbo looked somewhat startled, then shook his head in amusement. "I'm not sure I want to know why you're asking, but yes, he did tell me about the Gamgees' situation. That was, in fact, the entire reason I asked him to call."

"Sam accidentally overheard part of the conversation at his smial," Frodo informed him, "and he was rather upset." He paused, then continued a little more timidly, "Is Mistress Gamgee going to die?"

Bilbo sighed, then motioned for Frodo to come sit on his lap in the large armchair. Frodo did so quite willingly, for the entire situation had him unsettled and on edge, and it was nice to curl up in his uncle's lap and feel protected from the menacing world around him.

"You're getting too big for this," Bilbo said fondly, helping Frodo shift into the best position for both of them. Then he began slowly, "From what we know right now, Bell will not be long with us. No one can say for sure how long it will be, but Odo has done all he can, and from here can only try to keep the pain manageable for now."

"How-how long?" Frodo asked unsteadily.

"There's no way to know."

"Till Yule?"

Bilbo hugged him closer as he answered, "Probably not." Frodo simply sat, absorbing the grim news. "Frodo-lad, how much does Samwise know?"

"I don't know," he said helplessly. "He couldn't really talk about it. He just knew it was bad, and that there's nothing more anyone can do."

"Poor lad," Bilbo murmured. "What a way to find out."

Frodo was silent for several moments before venturing, "Bilbo? I want to help them, but I don't know how. I told Sam he can tell me anything, but..."

Bilbo smiled even though Frodo couldn't see it. "That's my lad," he said affectionately. "I already have a few things in mind, and you can help me."

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The days stretched on, Overlithe came and went, and life passed more or less as normal. The days where Sam worked alone in the garden became the norm rather than the exception, and on those days Frodo always made sure to go out and spend some time in the garden, assisting where he could, and asking about how Sam fared. Sometimes they wouldn't talk much, but simply coexisted in a mutual understanding. Sometimes Sam would babble about his Mum and his memories, and when he halted in self-consciousness, Frodo would encourage him to continue with a word or a nod.

Those memory days often ended with Sam fighting back tears as he realized how much he would miss his Mum and Frodo keeping his own tears back until the safety of his room, where he could vent his own grief. While he had some memories of his parents, they were not very many because he'd lost them so early. In a way he was jealous of Sam for getting more time with his Mum than he'd had with his, but that didn't keep him from feeling sorry for Sam and his brothers and sisters.

Not everyone knew the details of the family's predicament, with Sam's sisters trying to fill their mother's place in the home while caring for their Ma, and Sam often left to do the chores at both Number Three and the usual work at Bag End while his Da stayed home to care for his wife. But Bilbo always seemed to know just what the Gamgees needed and when they needed it. He would go to town in the pretense of getting things for himself and Frodo, and when he returned, Frodo would help him put the items in a basket. Very early the next morning, Frodo would sneak down to Bagshot Row and deposit the basket on the doorstep. Frodo greatly enjoyed these excursions, grateful to feel he was of some use, and often found it difficult not to reveal the source of the gifts when Sam would tell him excitedly of the parcel that appeared 'by magic' that morning.

Bilbo would also often disappear into Hobbiton in the middle of the day, to pay visits to particular matrons who'd offered their help. He arranged for each of them to happen to 'drop by' Number Three with dinner or supper once a week, though if anyone were to ask about his involvement in the plans, he would feign innocence and say the matrons had conspired together as hobbit women often do.

It was the beginning of August when it became obvious that it would not be too much longer. Even as Sam set about his work in the garden, Frodo could see he was tense with anxiety, though Sam wouldn't speak of it. Sam's brothers arrived in Hobbiton from their homes in the Northfarthing, both to assist at home and say their last good-byes, and Sam brought Marigold with him to Bag End, so the lass wouldn't be underfoot.

Bilbo entertained the young lass with stories and a few picture books, while Frodo read in the garden, always remaining within visual range of the stoic gardener lad. When it was time for luncheon, Bilbo insisted both Gamgees eat with him and Frodo, and they enjoyed a rather entertaining repast. Marigold was easily coaxed into giggles, and Sam could not help smiling when his sister was so amused, so Bilbo pressed his advantage, keeping them laughing rather than dwelling on what may be happening at their home.

Frodo, meanwhile, remained detached, unable to fully distract himself from dark and melancholy thoughts. It would be over soon, everyone knew it; he knew exactly how it felt to lose a parent, but he wasn't sure he could use that to help Sam.

The rapid knocking on the kitchen door startled them all; Frodo's eyes met Bilbo's and they exchanged a look of knowing even as Frodo rose from the table to answer the door. It was Hamson, nervously wringing his hands. "Beggin' your pardon, but the young'uns better come right quick."

"Of course," Bilbo answered evenly as he came up behind Frodo with Marigold in his arms and handed the young lass to her eldest brother.

Sam hesitated before crossing the threshold, glancing back with a look of doubt. "I don' think I'll be finishing the work today," he said worriedly. "Begging your-"

"Go, Samwise," Bilbo said firmly. "Do not mind the garden. Get home quickly."

Sam nodded hesitantly before turning and running across the lawn; Hamson was already out of sight.

Frodo watched him go with a sinking feeling in his gut. When he finally turned back toward the smial, Bilbo's arms were open and waiting for him, and he sobbed into Bilbo's shoulder.

Frodo didn't see Sam again until the farewell feast, held a week after Bell's passing, to give friends and relatives enough time to congregate in Hobbiton. The burial itself had been a quiet family affair the following day -the summer heat made it necessary to handle those matters quickly. But now there were tables of food set up in the shade of the Party Tree, barrels of ale arranged in a row, and a large number of hobbits milling about, eating and drinking and celebrating the kind-hearted life of Bell Gamgee.

Sam and his immediate family were the focus of attention as folks expressed their condolences and offered to help the family in any way possible. Frodo found himself avoiding them, uncertain of what he could possibly say to adequately express his sorrow for their situation. Bilbo was chatting animatedly with Daddy Twofoot and Widow Rumble about something -he couldn't hear from where he crouched in the shade of some bushes along the fence- so he was left to his own devices (his own devices consisting of hiding in the shade and trying to think about anything other than why everyone was here).

After a time, Marigold grew fidgety and fussy in the heat and began to cry for her Mum. Sam tried in vain to shush her, trying to get her to focus her attention on her favorite doll. When he recieved a nod of permission from the Gaffer to take her away from the family's picnic blanket, Sam rose and looked around for a suitable place.

Frodo watched from his perch in the shade and recognized this as an opportunity to be useful. He stood and approached Sam, and convinced him to bring Marigold over to where he'd been hiding in the shade. The trio settled down in the long grass; Marigold now only sniffed unhappily, clutching her doll close to her chest. Insects buzzed drowsily in the midday heat, a lazy breeze lightly ruffled their hair and clothes, and Frodo wondered what to do next.

At length, Frodo ventured, "Have you eaten?"

Sam shrugged. "A bit, but I weren't too hungry."

Marigold just stared at him mutely.

"How about if I go get some food, and we can eat it when we feel like it?" He received two hesitant nods, so he took off toward the food tables. While he puzzled over which foods would be best, he tried to remember what was said to him after his parents died, and if any of it really helped at the time (apparently it hadn't, or else he would've remembered it...).

He returned bearing a large plate of sliced fruits, a muffin of some kind cut into quarters, some crackers and cheese, and three mugs of water. Sam looked askance at the mugs -which had been set out with the ale- and began, "Sir-"

"It's just water, Sam. The mugs are easier to carry three in one hand." He set them and the plate down between the other two hobbits, then lowered himself awkwardly to the ground. His dressy trousers really were not made for sitting on the ground in, but Bilbo insisted he dress nicely. "Take what you like; I can always get more. There's far more there than what was at my parents' feast."

"Your parents died?" Marigold asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes, when I was your age. That's why I live with Bilbo now."

"I thought as you always lived wi' Mr. Bilbo," Marigold said with wonder. She had put down her worn doll in favor of a mug of water, and now stared into it thoughtfully. "How did your parents die, Mr. Frodo?"

"Marigold, that isn't polite," Sam said reprovingly.

"No, Sam, it's all right," Frodo assured him. "My parents drowned in the Brandywine River. They were out in their boat when a bad storm came and knocked the boat over."

"Oh," Marigold breathed. "And then . . . and then you lived with Mr. Bilbo?"

Frodo smiled a bit as he finished eating a piece of apple. "No, for a while I stayed in my relatives' smial. Brandy Hall is a very big smial, with lots of families living there."

"You didn't have your parents, not even Mr. Bilbo . . . weren't you lonely?"

"Yes, sometimes," Frodo admitted.

Marigold blinked, hopped up, then hugged him tightly 'round the neck and plopped herself in his lap. "I' sorry," she said earnestly. "But now you have Mr. Bilbo and us."

Frodo grinned and hugged her back. "Yes, I do."

"Do... do you still miss them real bad?" Marigold sniffled a little as she asked and burrowed closer to him.

Frodo patted her back and handed her the doll she had abandoned, wisely passed to him by Sam, who sat silently, listening and watching. "Yes, I do miss them terribly sometimes. It was worse at first, wishing they were there for Yule, or imagining what I would've given them for my birthday. I was very sad for a long time after my parents died."

Marigold looked up at him seriously. "But you're not very sad now."

Frodo had to smile. "No, I'm not. As much as I want my parents to be with me still, I realized after a while that it's better to focus on the good things you remember. Thinking about good things helps the pain pass while the happy times stay with you." He stopped for a moment, then ventured, "It is very hard to lose a parent, but you won't always be this sad. It might help to remember that."

The three sat quietly, each deep in thought. Then Sam looked up and said, "The Gaffer's calling, Mari. We'd better go." He rose while Frodo helped Marigold up and said, "Thank 'ee, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo nodded and waved half-heartedly. He pulled his knees to his chest and sat, stewing.

When Bilbo startled him from his reverie, it was late afternoon. "Have a good chat with the youngest Gamgees?" Bilbo asked kindly.

Frodo collected the plate and mugs and shrugged. "I told them about when my parents died. I wanted to help, but . . . I don't know if I did."

Bilbo clasped his shoulder encouragingly. "I'm sure you did, my boy. Come, it's time to go home."

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It was evening on the third day after Bilbo's disappearance that there was a knock on the door and Frodo opened it to find Sam, bearing a pot of something obviously hot.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Sam ventured after a moment of silent gaping at one another. "I'm under orders from me sisters to see this gets to you and that you eat some of it afore I return home."

Frodo stared at him dumbly before visibly shaking himself, scrubbing his face with his hand, and saying, "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Come in, please."

He led the way to the kitchen and stopped just inside the doorway as if unsure how to proceed.

"If you'll sit down, sir, I can manage it," Sam said gently. Frodo mutely dropped into a chair in front of the kitchen table, and Sam soon had a bowl of stew before him.

Frodo looked up at him. "Sit down, please, if you're really going to make sure I eat it before you leave. Why don't you get yourself some, as well?"

Sam shook his head no as he sat opposite his master. "I'm not to have any; it's part of my orders."

A corner of Frodo's mouth quirked upward. "Your sisters are harsh taskmasters."

"You don't cross them, to be sure," Sam agreed, then fell silent and fidgeted with his hands, watching surreptitiously as Frodo slowly spooned bits of stew into his mouth. "How are you holding up, sir?" he asked quietly.

Frodo swallowed a mite more heavily and answered evenly, "I'm fine, Sam. It's not like Bilbo died, he just went journeying again."

"He's still gone from here for good," Sam argued. "It's near the same, sir, as you have to get used to him not being around no more. Begging your pardon."

Frodo stared intently into his bowl. "No, he won't be coming back," he said to the carrots and potatoes and meat. Sighing heavily, he confessed, still without meeting Sam's eyes, "I only wish he'd given me the time for a proper good-bye."

"Well now, sir, there's always something a body wishes he could have said or done, but a wise hobbit once told me it's better to focus on the good things you remember, that it helps the pain pass while the happy times stay with you. And I've found that hobbit is absolutely right."

Frodo froze, finally ventured a glance across the table. "You still remember that?" he asked faintly.

"Oh, aye," Sam answered.

Frodo shook his head in bemusement. "I didn't know what to say; I wanted to help so badly. I didn't think it would make much of a difference."

"It helped more than you can know, sir." Sam answered with a small smile. "Now, you may not mind cold stew, but Marigold will have my head if she hears I kept you from your dinner."

"We can't have that," Frodo replied with a hint of amusement, and tucked into the stew with more gusto than before. Once he'd finished, he walked Sam to the door in thoughtful silence. Sam was on the front stoop before he could find any suitable words, and even they seemed insufficient. "Sam . . . thank you."

"And thank you," Sam said, tipping his hat before turning to stroll down the front path, whistling a nameless tune.


End file.
